


I Am A Victim

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Underage Rape/Non-con, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: THIS IS NOT SMUT!!! This content is for mature audiences only, heed the tags.This is the story of an abusive relationship and how the victim copes with the aftermath of being raped.





	I Am A Victim

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't get the memo this is not smut, please do not treat it as such. This story comes from a very dark place inside me and will likely be triggering for people who have suffered from domestic abuse, suicidal thoughts, and self harm. If you attempt to read this story and it makes you uncomfortable do yourself a favor and close the tab. Take care of yourself.  
This story is fictional and any similarities to any real life situations or people is merely coincidence.

I attempted suicide on Valentine’s Day. I don’t really remember why. Frankly I don’t think I even really knew why I was doing it at the time. The biggest factor was probably how close I’d been to a mental breakdown for the last 6 months. I got in a fight with my mom over something stupid and I blew it up, this was a normal occurence for the time. I was volatile.

I guess suicide just seemed like the next logical step. So I took a plethora of pills. It wasn’t any specific kind of medicine, it was just stuff I’d been saving for the last year. I took them where I thought they wouldn’t be noticed, only a few at a time. There were multiple times that I’d gotten so close to throwing them out, but at the last minute I always changed my mind. So I took my pill cocktail and laid back in bed. I opened my phone to the notes section and wrote my farewell letter.

_ “An overdose feels like your head is huge and your brain is too small. _

_ I am the most tired I have ever been in my entire life. _

_ I hope I do not throw up. _

_ If I die I do not want anyone to blame themselves. _

_ I cannot move my body and my legs are not attached to me.” _

I woke up 18 hours later in the ICU. I can’t really remember much from the first several hours of being awake, it’s mostly just vague memories with a dream-like quality to them. I hallucinated a lot for the first 24 hours. The most vivid memories I have are of the things that came to me at night. The most predominant was some sort of shadow man who would just loom over my headboard. I couldn’t ever see him, just sense him and hear his ragged breathing behind me. I was on suicide watch so there was a nurse in the room with me at all times. The woman on night shift comforted me every time I woke up screaming. 

I was in the first hospital for three days. I had to get all the drugs out of my system and do some brief physical therapy to get my legs to work again. Then they transferred me to a psychiatric hospital for 5 days. I cried on the way there, I just wanted to go home. I had done inpatient once before and it was terrible. At that particular hospital the therapists and nurses used a lot of fear tactics on us. One time they even played an episode of scared straight during our activity time, just to remind us where we would end up if we didn’t get our act together. Needless to say I hated it there.

When I got to this hospital it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had expected. It was a much nicer facility, way sunnier and not so much like a prison. I was grouped with several kids my age and we had group discussions three times a day. We’d have two specialized therapies a day as well, my favorite was art therapy. Not only that but I liked the people I was hospitalized with. They were all very kind and it was a wonderful healing environment. There were even times that it was  _ fun _ . Still, I was excited to go home at the end of my five days.

Things went back to normal for the most part. I was still hostile most of the time with bouts of major depression. I stayed up until late hours of the night and would never make it to school on time. When I did go to school I never got any work done, I just dicked around in class. I also frequently left early, I had a huge stack of detentions.

I had a good group of friends, “the squad”. We bickered at times and had our drama, but all teenagers do. I had been friends with all of them for years, but Lyla in particular was my ride or die. We were one and the same, I would have taken a bullet for her. I had outlying friends as well, but I didn’t hang out with them much. There was one boy, Alex, who really reached out to me after my stint in the hospital. He told me how worried about me he’d been and wanted to see me to hangout and catch up. We had worked together for a while but when I quit we’d drifted apart. I was excited to catch up with him. I can recognize now that he saw a broken girl and was swooping in like a hawk on a mouse. 

I fell in love with him anyways. It was fast, one minute we were just friends and the next we were dating. I was desperate for anything to give me purpose, a reason to keep on living, so I clung tight to him. I thought Alex was the definition of cool. He was older than me by 3 years, a high school drop out, and a drummer in a metal band. Before he even asked me out I had made up my mind that he was my new purpose. It was spring break and I’d stay at his house until 4 in the morning just playing video games and joking around. One night after I’d gone home he texted me and asked if I’d go on a date with him. I said yes.

At the time I was only working ten hours a week for just a little over minimum wage and spending my money recklessly. I also had nine hundred dollars of unpaid tickets from a few months back when I got busted smoking pot. In other words, I was broke. However, when Alex and I went out for breakfast as a date I insisted on paying. I blame that partly on my “feminist agenda” but mostly my intense desire to please. After our date we went back to his house to play video games. I ended up on his lap while we made out and his pants eventually came off. I didn’t really want to do it but I never stopped it either. He even asked once if I wanted to and I said yes. I sucked his dick on the floor and he lasted terribly long. I’d only ever been with one other boy sexually and he had lasted five minutes top. Alex took almost thirty minutes to orgasm. The whole time I was shaking like a leaf, I was so uncomfortable and I was close to tears. I hated what I was doing but I felt this deep, primal urge to please him. This was all I had to offer, after all. After that was done I left for home. It was three in the morning and I had school the next day.

I’m able now to look back on that event and see several of Alex’s faults in that scenario, but at the time I was certain he was entirely innocent. However he had pulled me onto his lap at ungodly hours of the morning when he knew I had school the next day. He allowed me to suck him off while I was shaking like a leaf and never asked me if I was okay. He knew my background with sexual abuse and a plethora of other mental health issues. There was no way he couldn’t see my fear. He was a grownup and I was a child.

We’d been on only one date and I would do anything to please him, even if it made me feel dirty.


End file.
